The Bet
by star.flash.17
Summary: Post-Hogwarts. What do you get when you cross Quidditch, Dean Thomas, 25 sickles, and men's attempts at romance? The ultimate bet of the century, o' course! (rh, hg, nevillesusan bones)COMPLETE
1. We Shall Make a Wager

The Bet By HiSpAnIc PaNiC (formerly MeliFlames)   The Reason behind the Resurrection of MeliFlames  

(A/N:  In this story, Ron's (still) whipped, (still) Quidditch and Cannons obsessed, Harry's a randy devil, and Neville is a party animal.  Dean Thomas guest stars as the voice of reason.  

Setting:  Post-Hogwarts, they're about 20 or so and all married, except for Dean.

Pairings:  R/Hr, H/G, and Neville/Susan Bones (iono why, I just always thought they'd make a good pair.)

Rating:  PG for language and romantic situations)

***

"Get him…GET 'IM!…aah…"

Ronald Weasley flopped down on the couch, one disappointed heap of man.  His best friend, Harry Potter, pityingly tossed him a can of butterbeer.  

          "Too bad, mate.  I told you the Cannons were a lost cause...Oy, pass the pork rinds, Neville."

          "It would help if Finnegan would break through Goyle's defense positioning!  Dammit, Seamus!"

          "Now, Ron, I've told you already.  Swearing at the telly won't do any good," said a third voice sharply as its owner strode into the room, reaching for her woolen mittens.  "Can't you three do anything productive instead of sitting on my couch and soiling it with those cursed pork rinds?"

          Neville farted loudly.  "That productive enough for you, 'Mione?"  Hermione Weasley sighed, most displeased, as the three men howled with laughter.  

          "Now really, Neville!  There was a time when you wouldn't even breathe in front of us, and now you've become some sort of…Wheezes poster boy!"  Hermione's lecture went unheard through the uproar from the couch, and she let out her own snarl of frustration.

          "What's happened now, Hermy?"  asked a concerned Susan Longbottom, tucking her long plait into her winter coat and tugging on her gloves.  

          "Your husband—honestly, Suzie!"

          "Now, Hermy, let's be fair.  It's not just Neville.  It's Harry, too!" yelled Ginny Potter, emphasizing the last part of her speech as she bundled up her daughter's coat.  Harry, however, seemed to take no notice, but put up the volume on the television set.  

          "And it's Greg Goyle for Wales flying up the field there, looks like he's trying to pelt a Bludger towards Cannons Chaser Angelina—"  

          "Move, Johnson, move!  He's feinting, I tell you, woman!"

          "Johnson swerves left just in time, she misses the Bludger but drops the Quaffle, where it is caught by—"

          "YES! Nice catch, Terry!"

          "Boot retrieves the Quaffle and shoots off…ooh, nasty steal by Nymphadora Tonks of Wales, she's really gathering speed…it's just her and Keeper Seamus—"

          "Dive, Finnegan, you prat!"

          "Finnegan dives—"

          "**SAVE!**"  Ron, Neville, and Harry roared in unison with the television.

          "Honestly," said Hermione again, "I never should have charmed that blasted contraption to the Quidditch Channel.  Let's go."  And the three women Disapparated.

          "Oy, Hermykins, could you get us some more pork rinds?" pleaded Ron to thin air, employing the special nickname he used whenever he wanted some…thing.  He only unglued his eyes from the screen when the station went on break.  

          "Huh…they must have gone shopping.  Ah well…pork rinds, Potter, chop chop!"

          "Yes, Master Weasley," replied Harry in a drippy, oozing English butler accent, taking the bowl and walloping Ron on the head with it.

          The doorbell rang as Harry headed into the kitchen; he distinctly heard Neville teasingly say, "Shove it up your arse, I ain't your house-elf."

          Dean Thomas floated in across the threshold as Harry retuned, the sappiest of looks on his face.  Harry almost dropped the bowl.  Ron and Neville looked shocked.

          "SOUND THE ALARM!" they cried together.

          "WHAT IS IT, MAN?" Harry added to the hubbub, tossing the bowl to Ron and slapping Dean's cheeks in resuscitation as he guided his former classmate to a chair.  

          "Hmmm?" Dean said brilliantly, seeming to come to himself.

          "Ron, shut off the telly, this is serious!"

          Ron looked as if he could not believe his ears.  He glanced at Neville.

          "Might as well, Wales just got the Snitch." 

          Ron swore loudly and snapped the television off, grumbling.

          "So why do you come in here like the Cannons won the Cup?"

          "I was over at Parvati's—"

          The three couch mates gave each other evil, knowing smiles before hooting and catcalling.

          "Way to go, Dean!"

          "Aroo!"

          "What are you on about?"

          "Well, let's think," said Harry, a finger on his chin, "you didn't show up at the pub last night, because you were at Parvati's house…you didn't come with us at midnight to toilet paper Malfoy's place, because you were at Parvati's house…and you owled me this morning…from Parvati's house…therefore…heheheh."

          "Jeez, Potter, is that all you think about?  That's not what happened at all.  First, I took her out to the most expensive place I could find, right, then, we went for a walk in the snow, sharing a mug of hot chocolate.  Finally, we went to her house, and we spent the entire night in each other's arms, talking until dawn.  It was so romantic."

          Neville shook his head sadly.  "Sorry, mates," he whispered dramatically.  "We've lost him; he's gone."  Then he turned to sob heavily into Ron's shoulder before Harry burst into laughter.

          "This is exactly why I'm not married."

          The laughter ceased.

          "And just what do you mean by that?" asked Ron, highly offended.

          "He means if he doesn't like the kid then he can just put it back in!"

          "Neville!" Ron reprimanded sharply through a smile.

          "Babies only come one way, you twit!  They can't go back!" shouted Harry. 

          "Sorry, grandpapa."  Neville hung his head.

          "Great!  Another person I need to teach!  Now, where did I put those diagrams?" and Harry proceeded to get off the couch.

          "Hold it, Dr. Love.  First off, this is my house.  Secondly, you are not to ever retrieve those diagrams—I don't want any other human being having to endure the same hell I went through."

          "Anyway, why are you not married?" Neville directed to Dean.

          "There's no romance!" said Dean, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

          "Sure there is!" Harry smirked.  "Look how mine turned out."

          "Thank you for that gorgeous image, Potter; I really needed reminding that my sister had your child, and that I am now 'Uncle Ronnie'."

          "Think about this, mates," interrupted Dean. "When was the last time you gave your wife a long, passionate kiss?"

          "Now that I think about it, it's been awhile," mused Neville.

          "Not since Hogwarts," chortled Ron.

          "I believe it was Rosie's birth," Harry said.

          "Exactly," smirked Dean. "You're all in a rut.  There's no passion anymore."

          "You say it like it's a bad thing," Ron mock-pouted.

          "C'mon, Thomas, it's not like we're old men!" chimed Neville. "We don't need to worry about romance!  The wives don't care about it!" he looked around at Harry and Ron for backup.  "Am I right?"

          Ron flushed.  "Actually, I did overhear them talking about it earlier today.  They seem to think we're Quidditch-obsessed prats who pay no attention to them unless we want something."

          "Now you see my point." Dean smiled wickedly.  

          "I don't," grumbled Neville.  "Susan would have nothing to complain about.  I'm dead romantic."

          Harry coughed.  "No offense, mate, but I would have to say I'm much more romantic than you."

          "Ha!" simpered Ron. "I'm more romantic than the lot of you put together!"

          "Now wait just one bloody second, Weasley—"

          "See here, Ronnie boy—"

          "Gentlemen, gentlemen," cried Dean over the ruckus.  "There is only one way to settle this.  We shall make a wager."

          "Keep talking, Thomas," pressed Harry, somewhat intrigued.

          "You shall have dinner here, tonight, I say, and, with the aid of only 25 sickles total, buy the most romantic gift for your wife that you can."

          "But it's Christmas Eve!" shouted Ron, scandalized.  "Everywhere is packed!"

          "Exactly," said Dean again.

          "Ooh," said Neville.  "I like that.  But how will we tell who wins?"

          "Easily.  By looking at the reaction on your wife's face.  The one who receives the greatest reaction will become the king of romance."

          "All right," Ron alleged.  "But, if we agree to do this, then you, Thomas, must propose to Ms. Patil."

          "Done and done," promised Dean.  And just as the four men shook on it, a harrased-looking Ginny Apparated out of thin air.  

          "Lost something, love?"  questioned Harry.

          "I don't believe it!" muttered Ginny distractedly.  "Rosie! Rosie!  Where are you?"

          A shrill giggle came from behind the television set.

          "Rosalind Lily Potter, come out from there this instant!" Ginny demanded, stamping her foot.

          There was a loud raspberry being blown, causing Ron to snicker and Ginny to swell.

          "Come on, then, Rosie.  Be a good girl."

          "Yes, Uncle Ronnie," murmured the little girl, emerging from the crawl space.  Ginny took her firmly by the hand and pulled her to the fireplace, chastising sharply.  "Out of my mind with worry, but did you care? No!  I've never—Diagon Alley!"

          Ron smiled as the pair of them disappeared into the flames.  "I've heard that one before!"

          Neville rubbed his hands briskly.  "Well, chaps, we've got some shopping to do.  Let's get cracking!"

***

(A/n:  well, what do you think?  Shall I keep going?  Send it to the graveyard?  Burn it and move to Iceland in deepest shame?  (I'm trying to get back into the writing loop, so cut me some slack, will yas?  Pretty please, review and tell me what you think!  You count, you really do!)

::muah::  Muchos besos,

          **HiSpAnIc PaNiC**   


	2. Do You Do Weddings?

The Bet 

**Chapter 2**

**Author's notes:**  you like it, you really like it!  ::muah!:: I love all of you that reviewed, and all of your great tips!  Thanks bunches, you rock!  

**Disclaimer (to apply to all subsequent chapters):**  I don't own nething Harry Potter (but he would make one helluva X-mas present!), nor do I own the skeletal basis of this plot (that belongs to the Cosby show; thanx to the sharp reviewer who reminded me of that!), but I do own that brilliant Quidditch dialogue and the mischievous Rosie Potter.  Hopefully this next chapter fulfills your expectations! (btw, sorry this one is a little shorter, but I have to keep suspense levels up!)

*HiPa*

***

          "Oh, there you are, Ginny, Rosie.  We wondered where you had gotten to," Hermione informed them, helping the younger girl out of the fireplace.  Ginny dusted herself off, looking round The Leaky Cauldron.  

          "Where's Susan, then?"

          "Oh," Hermione shifted uncomfortably, "She's…she's at the bar."

          "Not again," sighed Ginny.  "D'you remember what happened last time she had firewhiskey?"

          "How could I forget?" muttered Hermione.  "Took her half an hour to realize that Neville was _not_ in Hagrid's pants."

          "Neville's dead romantic!" piped Rosie in a high, squeaky voice.  Half the bar went quiet, and Susan slid off her barstool.

          "What did that —hic—little…little _tramp_ say about my Nevviekins?"  she asked, tottering towards Rosie and spilling most of her glass' contents on the floor.

          "Susan!" reprimanded Hermione sharply.

"Oh, no," Ginny groaned, snatching Rosie out of harm's way.  "Hermione, can we leave, please?"

"Yes, let's."  and both women dragged Susan from the pub into the deserted alleyway.

"How much did she have, anyway?" questioned Ginny.  

"Not even a swallow!"

"Now…now—hic—wait just one—hic—minute!  I want to know why…why she's talking about…about  my—hic—husbie-poo!"

"Yes, yes Rosie, why did you say Mr. Longbottom was, er, 'dead romantic' ?"  

"Because he said so!" the young girl chirped.  The women stared at her.

"But Daddy thinks he's more romantic than Neville, and Uncle Ronnie says he's more romantic than the lot of them put together."

"How do you know all of this, Rosie?  Go on, tell Auntie Hermy."

Rosie hid a small smirk before blinking up innocently at her elders.  "Well, I don't really remember…"  Hermione conjured a peanut-butter ice cream cone and handed it to her.

"Oh! I remember now," she said between slurps. "I was hiding in the crawlspace behind the telly and Mr. Dean Thomas came by and started talking about his evening with Ms. Parvati Patil (a/n: Rosie Potter is a quirky little squirt; she calls most adults by their full names…I think it's kinda cute! ^_^).  

"Then he said that Daddy, Neville, and Uncle Ronnie had lost all the romance in their lives.  So they all decided to have dinner at your house tonight, Auntie Hermy, and they can only use 25 sickles to buy you the most romantic gift they can."

As Rosie took deep breaths (and licks), the three women looked at each other, teary-eyed.

"That is so sweet!"

"Oh no!  What do I wear?"

"—hic—"

"Oh!  Right!  _Soberate_!" 

And so Hermione, Ginny, Rosie, and a newly sobered Susan headed off to Madam Malkin's Robes.

***

          An hour later, Harry found Ron preparing for the evening.  Black and gold candles were scattered amongst the now reflective surface of the dining room table, providing a flickering light and stunning effect at the same time.  Ron had obviously polished the best silver and china he had, and, set at every other place was a white, long-stemmed rose.  

          "Wow, Ron.  I'm impressed," Neville said, Apparating with a _pop_.  Ron grinned.

          "That's not all.  Oh, Garçon!"  he clapped his hands twice.  Wearing a black bowtie, walking on his hind legs, and carrying a silver serving platter was none other than…

…

…

…Dean!

Yes, him, and, amazingly enough, Crookshanks, Hermione's tabby cat!

          Neville and Harry guffawed with laughter as Dean knelt on one knee, muttering into Crookshanks' ear. "Do you do weddings?"

***

          "Ooh, mummy!  Mummy, look!"

          "Just a minute, dear—Hermione, turn round, let me see how those robes look on you."

          "Mummy, these robes—"

          "_Just a minute, Rosie_.  Oh, Hermione, they compliment your eyes perfectly!"

          "Thanks, Gin.  Susan, are you ready yet?"

          "Yes, Hermy, come and have a look…"

          "All right, Rosie," Ginny looked down at her daughter.  "What—?"

          "Mummy, these robes would be just perfect for me to wear at Mr. Dean Thomas' wedding!"

          Susan and Hermione poked their heads out from behind the dressing curtains.

          "Dean's getting married?" they asked together.

          "Are you sure, Rosie?"  Ginny said, eyeing her suspiciously (or, as suspiciously as you can a four-year-old).

          "Well, Uncle Ronnie said that if they agreed to the wager then Mr. Dean Thomas had to propose to Ms. Parvati Patil."

          Hermione beckoned Rosie to her, in order to prevent the mad rush of last-minute shoppers overhearing.  "Did you say wager?"

          Rosie nodded her head enthusiastically, causing her red curls to bounce up and down.

          "The man that gets the best reaction from his wife is the king of romance!"

          "Oh really now?"  asked Susan, interested.

          "Rosie, why don't you ask Madam Malkin to pin those robes for you?  Mummy needs to have a talk with Auntie Hermione and Mrs. Longbottom."

          "Yes, mama."

          As soon as little Rosie was out of earshot, Hermione and Susan went off into a rant.

          "A wager?!"

          "I knew there was something odd about their sudden adorations!"

          "No wonder they were so eager—"

          "Ginny, you're smirking.  That's never a good sign." Hermione observed warily.

          "But tonight it is.  Merry Christmas, girls."

***

(A/n:  ooh, what has Ginny got under her sleeve? The final installment of our saga tells you!  But only if you review, o'course. [hey, I have _no problem_ keeping that chappie locked up until the New Year…okay, I'm no good at threats, and I'm just as excited about the ending of this storie as u are—or, I hope u are.]  But please! Have some Christmas spirit!! Just REVIEW!!…I'll cry! *pouts* )

Oh, **Daintess **has a great story out, "Lucius Got Run Over By a Snorkack" (I'm sorrie I wasn't able to review, but I really did love it!) u should go read it.

And if you're a Harry/Ginny shipper, u might enjoy this realistic fluff fic by _moi_, **No Need**.  It's Christmasie!  (I _knoe_ you'll enjoy it…hinthint…)

FileEnd shameless plugging

**Muchos Besos y Feliz Navidad!**

          HiSpAnIc PaNiC


	3. When Wine turns Weird

The Bet 

**Chapter 3 (The Final Chapter)**

(A/n:  SORRIE!!!  Hey, it wasn't my fault—unexpected trip to Mexico, barely got back **yesterday. **Thanks again for all your precious reviews!  I love you all, and will be glad to return the favor!  [no, this is in no way bribery…*shifty eyes*]…anyway, keep it up, and enjoy the final chappie of **The Bet**!)

***

          "Freddie boy, we've got guests!"  George Weasley cried as the door to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes opened with a small tinkling sound.  

          "What can we do for you fine ladies?" inquired Fred, coming out from the back storeroom and dusting his hands.

          "Uncle Freddie!" shrieked Rosie, flying into his arms and effectively knocking all the wind out of him.  

          "We're in a bit of a rush, George," said Ginny, brushing hair out of her eyes, but still smirking.  George eyed her warily.  "Fred, she's smirking…this is gonna be good."

          Fred nodded in agreement, tickling his niece.

          "Weasleys, I need your strongest _Desire Potion_…"

***

          "…So, you simply pour this into their wine, Mr. Thomas, and they won't want to keep their paws off us."

          "Ooh…excellent," Dean cackled.

          "There is a catch," Ginny added, laughter dancing in her eyes.  "They'll be allergic to us…boils, sneezing, hives, you name it, they'll get it."

          "I am _so_ glad I am not them."

***

          Hermione, Ginny, and Susan were upstairs, getting dressed and discussing the evening's plans with a relish.  

          "No matter what Ron gets me, even if I adore it, I'll look at him like this," Hermione made a gruesome face.  "Ginny, you are a genius!"

          "I know…there's no way Harry's getting anything tonight…"

          "Just call me Stony-faced Suzie!"

There was a soft knock at the door, and they stopped talking.  Rosie snorted in her sleep.

Crookshanks gave a regal "meow" and led the three women down the staircase, hearing no sound but the occasional rustle of cloth and the click of a heel.

          Downstairs it was completely dark, except for the light of the candles.  Harry, Neville, and Ron sprung up respectively, brushing off their tuxedos and top hats and sharing a smirk as the women oohed and aahed in spite of themselves over Ron's romantic setup.

          Neville bowed, and, taking Susan's hand, kissed it as he lead her to her seat.  Harry offered his arm to Ginny and pulled out her chair for her.  Ron, however, plopped back down in his own chair, leaving Hermione to attend to herself.  

          The couples made small talk through course after course of Dean's (who was out buying Parvati's engagement ring) marvelous cooking, but there was a certain frostiness in the way the girls responded to their husbands' questions.

          Finally, Harry stood up, wine cup in hand.  "A toast," he proclaimed, raising his glass, "to the most beautiful wives three lucky men could ever hope to have.  May we always be together."

          "Here here!" cried Neville and Ron, hoisting their own glasses into the air.  As the men tipped back and drank deeply, Hermione, Ginny, and Susan shared a smirk of their own.  

          Harry sat down, a bit red in the face, and seized Ginny's hand, watching her hungrily.  Neville, however, got down on one knee next to Susan, his eyes roving over her almost indecently. With what must have taken all his will power, Neville spoke in a calm—romantic, even—tone.

          "Susan, darling, I have two roses here, both for you.  Take this one first."

          Susan obliged, and stroked the crème petals delicately.  They seemed to wither away and blacken instantly.  Susan let out a small gasp as a skeleton of bones took shape of the flower, ending with a claw in which a small box was clutched.  With a nod from Neville, she removed the box and opened it.

          Inside, cushioned in rich navy velvet, was an amethyst, princess-cut.

          "Susan Amelia Bones Longbottom, I present you with this birthstone and necklace,"  Neville said, removing a sterling silver chain from the stem of the second rose.

          "Neville, it's beautiful…" Susan murmured, placing the stone inside the niche in the necklace, "…but it's not my birthstone."

          "I know," replied Neville.  "It's the baby's."

          Susan threw her hands up to her face.  "Oh, Neville!  You…you really—?!"

          Neville nodded again, standing.  She let out a shriek and threw her arms around him, kissing his neck and face—and causing him to break out into boils.

          "What the—?"

          "Don't worry, Nevvie, come with me…"

          And they rushed away from the table into the nearest bedroom, firmly locking the door.

          Hermione and Ginny looked at each other in exasperation.  "What happened to 'Stony-faced Suzie'?"

          They ceased speaking, however, when Harry hovered awkwardly over his wife, his…er…_craving_ for her mounting as he handed her an oblong package covered in wrapping paper.  It was a golden-covered album filled with photographs, love notes, the tiger lily Ginny wore in her hair on their first date, the get-well card she gave him in second year…anything Harry could think of that meant something to her.

          "Harry…oh, Harry!" she cried, her iciness melting instantly as she leafed through it.

          "Oh GINNY!" and he pounced on her with gusto, knocking her backwards off her chair as he kissed her passionately, hands roving.

          "OY!" shouted Ron, looking sick.  "I just cleaned that floor, you prats!"

          "But Harry," Ginny muttered in shallow breaths, "why aren't you sneezing?"

          "Ron and I—removed…removed the spell—"

          They didn't have much time to speak after that.

          Hermione tutted as Ron stepped over his sister and (now, most likely ex-) best friend.  Neville and Susan returned, faces flushed and boil-free.

          "Good lord, man, have some self-control!" grunted Neville.  

          Ron cleared his throat.  The Desire Potion seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever. He simply sat down next to Hermione, a silver box in his hand, and began his story.  Harry and Ginny stopped their…activities on the floor to listen.

          "Once upon a time, a boy and girl went to Hogsmeade, quite alone, as their best friend was forbidden to visit the village at that time.  Now, the boy and girl had recently had a fight over the girl's cat, and, although furious with her, the boy couldn't stop loving her.  

          "As the two window-shopped, the girl dragged the boy over to a display at a certain shop, exclaiming at length over a piece of jewelry in the window—an emerald barrette.  The boy felt horrible…he was very poor at the time and couldn't afford it.  He really loved the girl, even at thirteen, and wanted to make her happy.  Nevertheless, he took her to look at other attractions."

          Hermione was listening to Ron with a rapt expression, although it was a bit tart.

          "During the day, I have made several calls to try and relocate that jewelry piece, and, luckily, I have been successful."

          Hermione gave her husband a small smile.  "You really remember that, Ron?"

          "Oh, yes."

          "Oh, no."  Hermione retorted, her voice rising passionately.  "You've forgotten, your Royal Highness.   That was _Lavender Brown_ who wanted the barrette, she told you when she was flirting with you on the same trip!"

          Susan put her hand over her mouth.  Ginny groaned at her brother's thick-headedness.  Ron simply gazed at his wife.  

          "_I_ wanted a silver rhinestone bracelet with the ancient runes engraved around the sides," she raged, not looking as she opened the box and pulled out the object inside it, "Not this _tacky_—"  Hermione's rampage stopped midway as she did a humongous double-take at what was in her hand:  a silver rhinestone bracelet with ancient runes engraved around the sides.  

          "Ron!" she cried, tears of joy streaming down her face and throwing herself on him.

          Ronald Weasley simply smirked at Neville and Harry, who tipped their hats to him and began humming a familiar tune.

          _"…Weasley is our king…"_

~Fin~

(a/n:  How u like?!  Hope I didn't let u down too much.  Once again, mucho sorrie for the delay!  Please don't forget to review!!!)

          LYL,

                   *HiPa*


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